I Dreamed It For You, Al
by Gracie Facie
Summary: England is at odds - - On one hand, he wants to continue hating America for the Revolutionary War. On the other, he might - - that is, perhaps there might be a chance that he might, for some unfathomable reason, be in love with the fool. USXUK, Spamano
1. Nightmares?

**_Hey, everyone! As some of you may know, I tend to make stories according to what I'm watching at the moment, and that happens to be Hetalia! YAY!_**

**_So, this is my hetalia story. Mostly UKXUS. And RomanoXSpain. HungaryXAustria is plausible, as is GermanyXItaly and maybe a GermanyXItalyXHolyRomanEmpire lurve triangle :D_**

**_Basically, loads of pairings. But main storyline is UKXUS  
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**I Dreamed It For You, Al  
**

Arthur sighed, falling over on his couch. It had been a rough day for him, what with all the meetings and the paperwork and the people-greeting and such. He'd been busy avoiding Sealand, whose puppy-dog eyes made it easy to forget that the Tyke wasn't yet considered a country. He'd gotten stuck in a long conversation with Germany about war procedures (though what Germany was doing at the meeting at all was a mystery to him - - weren't they still at war?) and had to latch onto China to get out of it, which led into a long conversation about a new location for a new Chinatown. Personally, he just wanted to curl up with some tea and a good book, and try to forget the day's happenings.

But of course, his phone rings instead.

"Hello?" he mumbled into the receiver, exasperated.

"Hey, Arthur!" He felt his eye involuntarily twitch. Of course it was that stupid git, America. And what was this Arthur nonsense? America hadn't called him Arthur since before the Revolutionary War. Ungrateful brat, revolutionizing and what-not...

"America." He finally grunted in response.

"You know what you should do?" America asked.

"What. What should I do." Arthur asked politely, touching his fingers to the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He didn't even try to make it sound like a question, not that America noticed.

"You should come over and watch this movie with me," the man suggested, sounding excited. "It's called A Haunting in Connecticut, and it's supposed to be _reaaaaaallyyyy_ scary."

"And why would I come and watch a movie with you, of all people?"

"Because I'll owe you a favor?"

Arthur considered this. To have America owe you a favor is extremely beneficial nowadays. He was still too young and reckless, which meant that he'd attack anyone you deemed as bad. Having America owe him one could mean having a meat-shield in case someone turned on him, and also meant he had a walking atom bomb at his disposal.

"Alright, I'll come watch it. But you definitely owe me one, you arse."

* * *

By the time Arthur arrived at America's home, he'd already begun to regret the decision. When his former colony opened the door, he regretted it completely.

The blonde was dressed in a t-shirt and boxers, with an American flag blanket around his shoulders and a bag of greasy American food in his hand. The smell was almost enough to make Arthur walk away, but the thought of America as a meat-shield was enough to make him stay put and endure it.

"Hey, you're here!" The young man said pointlessly. "Just come in and sit down. You put the movie in, I'll go and make some popcorn."

With that, the younger man turned away from the door and went off in the direction of the kitchen, while Arthur popped the disk into the player and settled himself on the living room couch.

It had been a long time since he'd been to America's house. So long, in fact, that he couldn't even remember the last time he'd visited. The living room was messy, set up for movie night. There were blankets adorning the couch, snacks set out on the table, and movies scattered about the floor haphazardly. He made a mental note to chastise the man later about cleaning.

He looked up at the menu of the movie that was flickering on the screen. It _did_ look a little scary, but effects these days were pretty good. It was probably one of those movies where things jump out and startle you, rather than having any real substance. That being said, America would probably be hiding in fear after the first ten minutes.

Arthur sighed and leaned back. Watching scary movies was something America had loved to do since he was a colony, even though they scared him half to death. Arthur remembered countless times where he'd been woken up by the scared boy's cries, and had ended up sharing a bed with him for the night.

If he's so afraid, why does he watch them?

"Here's the popcorn!" The man said as he came into the living room. He handed the bowl of popcorn to Arthur, who took it silently. "Ready for the movie? Here we go!"

America clicked the button on the remote, and the movie began.

* * *

As predicted, America was cowering after ten minutes.

As predicted, he was completely scared out of his mind by the time it was done.

"That was too scary," he proclaimed as he turned it off, trying to hide the fear in his voice. "I might actually have nightmares tonight."

"Well, if it's quite alright, I'm going to return home now." Arthur said, standing up and stretching. But as he began to walk out, he was stopped by America pulling on his jacket.

"What? No! You can't leave! What if those ghosts get me? You have to stay!"

"I'm not going to stay," the older man said roughly, pulling his arm out of his grasp. "You're an independent country, America. I'm sure you don't need _me_ here."

"What? You're going to hold that against me?"

"Why not, you brat?"

"I'm sorry I beat you up all those years ago. Please stay?"

Arthur stopped. Never once had America actually apologized to him, even in jest. The man must really want him there...

"...Fine."

* * *

Arthur was on the brink of sleep in the guest room of America's house. While the twat was insufferable at times, he did have superbly soft mattresses, and they made sleeping luxurious. He felt his lids get heavy as he went over a list of thins he had to do when he got home the next day.

_Allies meeting, clean the storehouse, rewrite treaty..._

_Allies meeting, clean the storehouse, rewrite treaty..._

_Allies meeting, clean the storehouse, re...rewrite...rewrite..._

_Rewrite...tre..._

His thoughts were incoherent now, and he smiled as he began to slip into unconsciousness...

Only to be rudely awakened by sudden movement near him.

He quickly jerked awake, scrambling away from who or what was upsetting his warm bedclothes. As the sleepy haze wore off, he realized it was...

"America...? What're you - - Hey, you wanker, you can't sleep here!" He tried to push the guy away, but it was no use - - despite the amount of greasy American food he ate, America was one muscled man, and that much muscle is hard to budge.

"I had nightmares," the man said sleepily. "Lemme sleep here..."

Arthur stopped struggling, thinking back to all the times when a younger America would crawl into his bed at night, claiming nightmares. He smiled, more of a grimace, as nostalgia sucker-punched him in the jaw. He felt as though America was his again, his colony. And he liked it that way. It made him long for those days, when they were so close, not always fighting like they were now. When they used to laugh instead of argue.

So, maybe this one night.

_Allies meeting, clean the storehouse, rewrite treaty..._

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**_Yay? Nay? Lemme know, kay? I'm sorry that it's not great. _****_Meh, a little rushed. Oh, well._****_ I wrote it at, like, one in the morning. (Woohoo speak like Poland FTW)  
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_**Review Please!**  
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	2. Tangled

_**You know, I was reading the last chapter and I was like "Wow, this could really stand on its own, like a one-shot..."**_

_**It won't, but that's what I was thinking.**_

_**And thanks to those who reviewed, it made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside 3  
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He had woken up so suddenly, after the dream. It had been awful, with the bodies and the ghosts and the writing on the walls...he sleepily vowed to himself never to watch another horror film again.

And now he couldn't get back to sleep. With a groan, he got out of bed, tiredly remembering that England was visiting.

_I go and sleep in England's bed when I have nightmares..._he thought to himself childishly, brain not fully registering his own age or much of the past few decades.

Once he found the room England was in, he crawled into the bed next to the country, content with the new source of warmth and comfort. He was pretty sure the guy was yelling at him, but he ignored him, choosing instead to mutter a slurred and quiet "I had nightmares, Lemme sleep here."

He didn't hear any more protests from the man, and thus drifted back into sleep, this time with no nightmares...

* * *

As he woke up that morning, Alfred became aware of a warm body next to his. His sleepy brain ignored the sign, just grateful for the comfort of the warm heartbeat in his ear. Who knows, maybe it was that pretty girl who worked at the McDonald's? He willingly snuggled closer to the body, glad for the person's presence. He'd slept well last night after the nightmares had stopped, and he figured it was of whoever this extremely comfortable person was.

The person made a grumbling noise and pushed him a little, muttering.

"Alfred, you wanker, get offa me..." the person mumbled.

Alfred's eyes snapped open. He _knew_ that voice, regardless of the sleepy slurring. His now-wide-awake blue eyes began leaning in and squinting, trying to get a better look - without Texas, most things were a blur to him - to behold Arthur, softly breathing next to him and muttering a little.

Within seconds, Alfred's shrieks and kicks had both countries at attention, kicking and shouting madly at one another:

"What're you - - " _kick_

"But I was ju - - " _smack_

"Why - - " _pinch_

"How - - " _push_

"Stop hittin - - " _punch_

"AUGH!" _slap_

The two of them rolled off the bed and landed with a loud '**THUMP**' on the floor, with Alfred on top of Arthur, both deeply entangled in the warm sheets and unable to move. The awkward position was enough to make both men blush momentarily and cry outin surprise. The younger country was the first to recover, and began squirming to try and free himself. The more they struggled, the more it seemed to tighten around them, making escape difficult and near impossible.

Finally, Alfred gave up and turned to the older state accusingly.

"What are you doing in my bed?"

* * *

"What?" Arthur scoffed at America's inquiry. Was the man really that stupid? "Me? No, my dimwitted acquaintance, _you_ are in _my_ bed."

"Excuse me?" The younger man said, offended. He leaned closer and squinted at the Brit. Being blind as a bat as he was, this action didn't surprise Arthur at all.

"You're the bloody sodding idiot that came stumbling into the guest room _I_ was staying in, _insisting_ that you sleep with me because _you_ had nightmares!" Arthur continued, pushing against the American's chest in an attempt to free himself from the confines of the sheets. "You came running to my bedside like you did as a child!"

Now the man looked really offended, and also began thrashing against the sheets, with marginally better success. Not to mention more physical damage.

"I am not a child!" He countered. "I was half-asleep, it doesn't count!"

"I don't even care, just stop thrashing about like that or you'll hurt the both of us!"

He complied, and they lay there for a moment or two awkwardly, America on top of Arthur.

"Maybe you should - - "

"I can do it, England!" America snapped at him. So, now that they were arguing, it was back to saying 'England', was it? What a bloody confusing twat America was.

"But I'm just - - "

"I said, I can do it!"

Now it was Arthur's turn to stop. Obviously this pigheaded fool didn't want any help, so he wasn't going to get any. He looked away from him, beginning to get a little claustrophobic. He waited impatiently as America struggled slightly to free them, moving parts of the sheets and rearranging his body to try and untangle them from the inside. He didn't know why, but he could feel the heat rising in his face.

This was only doubled when some part of America's lower body (he didn't even WANT to know what part) ended up in a VERY sensitive area on Arthur's body, causing him to emit a strange noise and turn bright candy-apple red.

"G-get OFF me, you wanker, that's my...just...GAH~Ah!"

America quickly rearranged, and England decided he wasn't going to take any more of this.

"You've had your chance," the Brit growled, grabbing the younger man and forcefully rolling him over so he was on top. "Now, DON'T MOVE, you git!" He quickly got to work on the sheets, untangling them in less than a minute.

As soon as they were free, the two of them scuttled apart, leaning against opposite ends of the bed. If he hadn't known better, Arthur could have sworn he saw a flush of pink on the younger man's cheeks. He figured his own cheeks were probably stained a permanent red.

Silence dominated the room, uncomfortable and awkward, for several minutes. And then:

"At least France didn't see tha - - "

"Don't EVEN mention it, you twat."

* * *

Arthur was out of that house as soon as possible, half because he wanted to and half because America was practically shoving him out the door.

The younger country was talking faster than a speeding bullet as he steered the older man out the door.

"Hey, had fun last night, let's not do that again, like, ever, okay? Have a safe trip home and don't fall off the boat and go ahead and have some fish and chips for me when you get there because heaven only knows I never eat that, right? Yup, just greasy American fast food for me, yum yum! Here, take some popcorn with you, and while you're at it, go ahead and burn these sheets for me, will ya?"

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the elder of the two on the porch with a pile of sheets in his arms and popcorn at his feet.

With a disgruntled noise, the Brit glared up at America's house.

"Take care of your own mess, you twat!" He shouted, dropping the sheets in front of the doorjamb and turning on his heel to walk away. "Independent, my arse!"

* * *

**_Hahaha I thought that was decent. I've certainly written better in my lifetime, but, hey. 'Cest la vie' or however you spell it. Some Spamano next chapter? Yessss I think so..._**

**_Please review!_**


	3. Haircuts, Tomatoes, and Erogenous Zones

_**Woot new chapter. No America and UK in this, just some Spamano lovin'. If you don't like SpainXRomano, this chapter isn't completely necessary, so you can skip it if you like. It'll come up later in the story, but no specifics that would need referring back to, I don't think.  
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Antonio sat back and wiped the sweat off his brow. Working in his garden was hard work, but the tomatoes it produced were definitely worth toiling in the sun. He enjoyed the work, it always took his mind off the things that plague him_**.**_ Things like the summit coming up at his house. Things like the fact that his country was currently being invaded by American tourists for the summer season.

Things like these confusing new feelings for Romano.

Well, they weren't exactly _new_, but they _were_ confusing. He'd always had certain feelings for Romano, but he'd always assumed they were more a more parental love for his ward. However, recent events made him realize that was not the case.

It had pretty much started when he'd found out that Romano's curl was his, er...erogenous zone. He supposed he should've already known it, having evoked similar reactions from his former helper when he'd been a child. He supposed this time was different because Romano was just a great deal older.

It had been a complete accident, but the results were...well...

_**~Flashback to Last Week~**_

"Hey, Spain. Could you...could you do something for me?"

Antonio spared a glance up at his former charge, and had barely returned to his tomatoes when he did a double-take.

The formerly neat hair of the country was shaggy and unruly, sticking out in every direction and...was that a bird tangled in there? Antonio had never, _ever_ seen Romano's hair so bad. In fact, it was rather frightening to behold. He opened his mouth to question, but then thought better of it and closed it again. When he did speak, it was in response to Romano.

"Yes, of course. What is it?"

"My hair. I got careless, and now look at it. Could you cut it for me?"

So, the two countries went into Antonio's house. The scissors came out, as did a sheet to catch the hair, and Antonio went to work on his companion's rat's nest. He trimmed here, trimmed there, sharpened his scissors twice and broke four hairbrushes and two combs.

By the time he stepped in front of Romano to cut his bangs, his hair was pretty much back to normal, and happily bird-free. His eyes wandered to the flyaway curl on Romano's head. He looked at the curl with curiosity. Why was this curl so much longer than the rest of his hair? Why didn't he ever cut it?

"Hey," Antonio said. He grabbed the hair lightly. "What's this?"

The second his fingers closed around the hair, he saw Romano visibly tense up with a squeak.

"H-hey! Don't be touching th-that!" Romano stuttered, flushing a bright red, bright as Antonio's tomatoes.

"Why, what is it?" The older country asked, experimentally tugging on it slightly. This time, an involuntary moan escaped the younger man's lips. Then his hand was smacked away and he found himself facing a very red, very flustered, very angry Italian.

_**~End Flashback~**_

Antonio shuddered involuntarily at the memory, remembering how he'd gotten a real earful about that, and even a few feeble punches from the man. There had even been a headbutt like the old days. Ever since that day, every time he'd seen Romano, the younger country had pulled a beret low over his hair and skittered away, blushing.

But the moment he'd realized he could make Romano moan like that just by touching his hair, then what if he...Well, it made him wonder.

He shook his head, trying desperately to focus on the tomatoes and not on all the things he suddenly wanted to do to that curl. He had always been in love with Romano, that much he knew, it was just less...sexual...before.

Before, he'd simply been content with being around the Italian.

Now, he'd still simply be content with being around the Italian...just in a...um...slightly more naked way...

"Spain? _Salve_, Spain?"

Antonio blinked out of his X-rated thoughts and looked up to see Romano.

Well. Think of the devil...

"Ah, _Hola_, Romano. _¿Que estas haciendo?_ What brings you here?" He asked politely, standing up and trying to stop his eyes from wandering to look at the antennae-like hair, but failing. He saw Romano blush a little, pulling his new beret down a little and looking away.

"I-it's about l-last week." He stuttered, blush darkening. "You know, when you..."

"Y-yes, I remember." All too well. Mmmmm memories...

"Well, I was thinking, and, uh...Well, you see, I..." Romano trailed off, collecting his thoughts, and then finally mumbled something unintelligibly.

"Hmm? What was that? I couldn't - - "

"I said, I kind of liked it! Okay?" Romano said loudly, finally looking Antonio in the eye. "And I, well...I wanted you to know that I..."

He stopped, and took a deep breath, and quickly said:

"...tfeelthesamewaythat'sokaybecauseI'malrightwithstayingfriends."

The older country sat there, staring at the young Italian in confusion. It was too fast, and he'd completely missed the beginning, which made the ending confusing anyway.

"Uh...A little slower, pl - - "

"I said, I just wanted you to know that I really like you." Romano started, slower, cutting off his request. "And I always kind of have and I'd like to try and have a relationship with you, maybe, but if you don't feel the same was that's okay because I'm alright with staying friends." His face was a bright maroon, and his eyes were focused on a suddenly fascinating patch of ground. "I realized last week, when you...you know...and my reaction was so...well, you remember. It was hard to ignore, but I tried to. This morning I realized that I can't hide from myself forever, and I can't hide myself from you forever."

Antonio just blinked at first, dumbfounded by this beautiful (albeit lengthy) confession. He tried to find the words in his head to express his reciprocation, but they were all so jumbled, and even if he could think clearly, the young Italian's mere presence tied his tongue in knots anyway. He floundered for a minute or so, before the other man's face grew a look of dismay, quickly masked with indifference.

"_Certamente_," he seemed to scoff. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You're almost as big with the women as France and Grandpa Rome. You wouldn't swing my way for anything."

He turned on his heel and began to walk away, muttering a heart-breaking goodbye with a wave over the shoulder.

_Move._

_Goddammit, feet, MOVE!_ Antonio pleaded in his mind, willing his body to do something, anything, to stop Romano from leaving. _No, no, tu no vas salir ahora, mi Romanito...If you leave now, there's no hope, no hope at all!_

Finally, he regained control of his body and moved forward, clearing the distance between them in two leaps. He grabbed Romano by the shoulder and shouted a strangled "Wait - - !"

He stopped. Romano stopped. The younger nation turned to look at him, eyes wide in confusion.

Antonio took him by both shoulders, and pulled him into a hug. Romano readily accepted it, though his muscles stayed tense.

"I didn't know what to say," the Spaniard began. "You caught me by surprise. I never, not in a million years, thought that you might return my feelings..._mi amor_..."

The last words rolled off his tongue so naturally. "My love". It sounded so right when aimed at Romano. The younger country finally relaxed.

They pulled apart from the hug. "Spain, I - - "

"Antonio."

The younger nation looked confused. "Eh? _Perdono_?"

Antonio leaned down slightly, brushing his lips against the man's sinful curly-cue. "Antonio. Call me Antonio..."

He felt the man shiver slightly, and a stuttered response gave him permission to address him as 'Lovino'.

"Mmmm...So, _mi amor_, just how sensitive_ is_ this curl of yours?"

* * *

**_I...I kinda feel dirty after writing that...odd..._**

**_Ummm for those who really need it: _**

Salve = Hello (At least, I hope it does. google translate...)**_  
_**

Que estas haciendo? = What are you doing (Glad that sentence turned out okay. Two years of Spanish, but one summer and it all goes out the window...)

Certamente = Of Course (I think. Google translate wooooo. I should take Italian next...) **_ +- - -Yes. Imma do it._**

Mi amor = My love (did I need to put this here? I wrote it in...)

Perdono = should mean "Pardon?" but, again, google. (yay?)

"No, no, tu no vas salir ahora, mi romanito" = "No, no, you're not going to leave now, my little Romano"**_ (Fun fact: Here, and in "Que estas haciendo" Spain is using the pronoun 'tu', instead of the pronoun 'usted'. This shows both their familiarity with each other and the fact that Spain is older than Romano...even if all he did was think it, and not voice it.)_  
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**_Dear Lord, Spain, you insatiable pervert. 'Course he is, though. He'd have to be for me to cosplay him. *shrugs*_**

**_Just a small break from America and England's relationship, to set up for later (WOW I'M ACTUALLY DEVELOPING A FRIGGIN' PLOT_**** FANTASTIC**_) **so we'll probably get back into that later. You know, this could definitely stand as it's own one-shot. Why is it that all these chapters would make decent one-shots?**_

**_Please review! I WILL GIVE YOU A CYBER-COOKIE!_**


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